Storm Heralds Reading List
Book 1 Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget, Finis Fide, Tergum Cultro, Omni Honore, Carpe Posterum, Vacuus Cymba, Noctem Oritur
Book 2 Umbram Ignis, Ancra Mortis, Fame Cimex, Crux Lapis, Saeva Abyssi
Book 3 Captum ante, Venenum Filios, Locum Ignotum, Domus Discordia
Book 4 Cincere Tempestus, Ignis in Vacui, Indomitus Bellum, Falsa Verum, Redemptio Opus, Diem Infamia
Book 5 Speculum Enigmate, Festum Gladius, Incantator Congressus
Extract from Imperial Crusades of the Era Indomitus Vol I
When word first spread throughout the galaxy of the Living Primarch's restoration most potentates greeted the news with scepticism, yet the swift reforms and dispatched Torchbearer fleets soon proved beyond any doubt that he had indeed returned. For the common man the response could not have been more different, jubilation resounded on countless worlds and cheering crowds filled the streets as they saw the gleam of hope restored at the moment when it was most desperately needed. Nowhere was this more evident than on the Shrine worlds, where hosannas deafened the ear and cathedral bells pealed ceaselessly, proclaiming the salvation of mankind. Celebrations on Emiline's Hope lasted a full solar month, Far Idyll saw millions cavort naked in the freezing rains of that icy world and on Sanctus Lys the faithful sowed purity banners into their skins and threw thousands of condemned Heretics onto flaming pyres as displays of devotion.
The faithful rejoiced, but the Imperial Regent himself was far from pleased. Sealed in the most secure vaults of the Logos Historica Verita are records of Roboute Guilliman's personal remarks regarding the Ecclesiarchy, comments that could well start another civil war if made public. That the Primarch was appalled by the spread of spiritual fervour through the body politic of the Imperium is known to any whom spent time in his court and his stated intention to replace the Imperial Creed with a more rational mindset was no secret. And yet, despite his personal misgivings, there were certain advantages that stayed his hand. Firstly, the involvement of the Living Saint Celestine in his restoration had yet to be explained to his satisfaction and her remarkable defiance of Chaos was an asset not lightly squandered. Secondly, the weight of evidence proving miraculous interventions in battle, and the ethereal protection of the Imperial Creed against the temptations of Chaos, were irrefutable and potent benefits to humanity. Lastly the sheer fervour of Imperial citizens for the Primarch's cause overturned much resistance to the Regent's reforms and silenced many detractors, at least publicly.
Despite his personal distaste, the Regent conceded to establishing a working relationship with the Adeptus Ministorum, avoiding public criticism of their doctrines in exchange for support for his mandates. He even allowed a single priest-speaker to join his court, though their debates were fractious at the best of times. Though troublesome this relationship proved its worth, the fanatical devotions of the masses and their willingness to obey his will without question, smoothing over countless issues that he otherwise would have needed to waste precious time dealing with. Meanwhile the Ecclesiarchy found that the return of a Living Primarch was only the start of the miracles that abounded in the Era Indomitus.
There exists, in the deepest vaults of the Logos Historica Veritas, an audio-capture of High Marshall Hellbrecht of the Black Templars, remarking that alone among the nine loyal Primarchs only Roboute Guilliman could have made such a concession. That none of his Brothers could have put aside their scorn and lowered themselves to work with the Imperium as it was, as opposed to how they wished it to be. Though this statement was later refuted and when the recording was presented those Historitors sent to interview the High Marshall were forced to flee for their lives before his wroth.
Armorum Fidei Chapter 1
Justini was heartily glad of her armour in the bitter cold. Its Ceramite embrace kept the constant wind at bay and the heat of her backpack warmed her spine against the biting chill. Around her the huddled masses shivered and stamped their feet, trying not to look dissolute before the visitors, lest they be punished for impiety. Justini looked upon them and her scarred lip pulled back beneath her helm. Heathen scum, she judged them, lacking true belief in the God-Emperor. They clung to their base superstitions, cleaving to false idols and mystic charms like their lives depended on it. Even now she could see bulges under their coats, hinting at trinkets from their sordid shamans being concealed. Justini wanted to march into the crowd and rip them away, but she held her ground. She was not here for that.
Justini cut a fine figure in her gilded power armour, emblazoned as it was with the icons of the Order of the Valorous Heart. She was a short woman, unimpressive in bulk and bosom, but corded with dense muscle. Under her helm her features were coarse, cheekbones bones broken many times, her upper lip split by a rising scar and her freckled nose made crooked by an old wounding. Yet her eyes were fired with the righteous conviction of the true believer, a zealot's fire burning in her soul. Justini was more than a Sister of Battle, she was Celestian, the bravest of the brave and the most fanatical souls in an order of fanatics. She knew wherever she found herself that it was by the God-Emperor's will, and that her every action was invested with His righteous purpose.
Her smug reflections were interrupted as Sister Praxi muttered over a closed vox-link, "This is pointless."
Resita retorted, "We are charged with His sacred mission!"
"I know that," Praxi scoffed, "But this farce won't change anything."
Justini craned her head slightly and saw her Sister-Celestians standing to attention. Praxi, Resita, Lexia and Heleyna, the bodyguards to Canoness-Preceptor Phantea. Their leader cast a stern image against the horizon, stiff and unbending, her faith unquestionable and her spirit without sin. All looked upon her and saw a shining beacon of piety. Justini had joined her retinue after a bloody war of faith and she was honoured to serve under so virtuous a commander.
Beyond the Canoness was only bleak tundra, endless rolling vistas of algae-covered plains and low hills. Suna was an old world, long past its peak of geological activity and sinking into old mountains troubled the horizon, no deep oceans remained to be sailed. Life had ever been sparse on this cold planet and had never evolved beyond insects. There were only open plains and low hills, algae and the constant wind. A worthless backwater, but here Phantea and her retinue had been assigned by the Ecclesiarchy.
"Look at them," Praxi muttered, "There's no fire in their eyes, no faith. Trying to convert this lot is useless."
Resita growled, "That is our Holy Mission, do you doubt we will succeed?!"
Praxi snorted, "Oh I'm sure they'll say the words and sing the prayers, while we stand here with bolters drawn, but the second we drive away they'll go back to their bone-rattling shamans."
Resita snapped, "The local Cardinal should have sent a proper expedition to stamp out these heathen practices. It is intolerable!"
Justini sighed, "Alas for two thousand years the Missonaria Galaxia have done just that, and for two millennia the people of Suna have paid lip service to the Imperial Creed in public and carried on as they always have in private."
"Then we should burn these Train-cities to the ground!" snapped Resita.
That made Justini look up to take in the vast carriage blocking out the weak sunlight, totally outclassing the humble Rhino they had arrived in. It was immense, a vast series of carriages each the size of a Capitolis Imperial, resting upon eighteen track units as broad as two Land Raiders placed next to each other. Each carriage bore numerous smokestacks and anti-aircraft guns, earthshaker artillery and pillboxs, a redoubtable defence, marred only by the layers of mystical symbols laid over every inch, crude attempts at wards. The front carriage bore numerous ploughs and digging mechanisms, designed to scoop up algae as it rode over the planet, shunted to bio-fuel processors where it would be brewed into essential Promethium. Two hundred meters wide, and again as tall, but eight kilometres end to end, the Train-City of Narthi, one of the many that roamed Suna endlessly.
It was an awe-inspiring sight, but it was not why they were here, they were here for the people. Gathered in a rough crowd outside the tracked carriage were several thousand people, a small slice of Narthi's population. Young and old, men and women, filthy labourers or richly-dressed Enginseers, turret gunners, algae farmers and steersmen, from all walks of life. They huddled together in the cold, seemingly unsettled to be standing on ground that was not moving under their feet and glaring resentfully at the Missionary standing on a ladder before them. He bellowed catechisms from the Imperial Creed, warning of the hell that awaited them if they did not cast aside their heathen practices and embrace true faith in the God-Emperor. His voice boomed, repeated over the crowd by hovering servo skulls with loudhailers fitted to their jaws.
Set apart from the crowd was a smaller gathering of people, only about two-dozen of them. These ones were kneeling, bound hand and foot by thick cords. Behind them two servitors were constructing a gallows, a long line of nooses hanging from a plasteel frame. These souls had been condemned for Heresy: named as shamans, soothsayers and rude mystics, perpetuating heathen idolatry and leading the people away from the proper worship of the God-Emperor. Their deaths were certainly deserved, but Justini would have preferred a traditional pyre, sadly wood was lacking on this barren world and so they had to make do with a hanging.
Praxi sniffed, "Think any of them are actually shamans?"
"I don't follow," Justini murmured.
"This lot," Praxi elaborated, "I'd wager there isn't a genuine soothsayer among them. They'll be base criminals, outcasts, misfits, those without relatives to miss them. Anyone the Train-city doesn't mind disappearing."
"You think they deceive us?" Resita hissed.
Praxi snorted, "The people know if they openly resist us the Imperium will burn them out, root and branch. So, whenever we roll over the horizon, they offer up their unwanted mouths to appease us. I bet as soon as we take off they'll let the shamans out of wherever they've stashed them and go back to normal."
"Disgraceful," Resita hissed, "They cling to their heathen ways like misguided children."
But Justini sighed, "They think the shamans can protect them from the Pysbrids, it's all they have since the Imperium turns a blind eye to their plight."
Justini suddenly bit her lip in self-recrimination, she had allowed doubt to stain her thoughts and so questioned the righteous rule of the God-Emperor. Truly even the most pious soul must watch their thoughts constantly, lest the sin of doubt creep in. She lowered her eyes and prayed, "God-Emperor of mankind, who sees all thoughts and knows all hearts, forgive your humble servant for her doubt. Contrition shall I offer, until I flagellate the sin from my soul. I pledge my life unto you, from now until death."
Her prayer was interrupted as Praxi hissed, "Look out, trouble's brewing." Justini lifted her eyes and her autosenses picked out a stir among the prisoners. They stopped the second they realised they had been seen, but guilty looks crossed many faces and eyes averted in an attempt to avoid notice. Justini wasn't fooled, she hefted her weapon, a blessed power-polearm with a spiked point and recurved blade, as she growled, "Stand ready."
The Celestians lifted their varied weapons, drawing the notice of Phantea, as she stepped forward. Justini marched to man, kneeling with his hand tied behind him, but with a defiant glare to his eyes. She loomed over the man and barked, "Heretic, confess your crimes!"
The man hissed, "I don't speak to eagle-scum."
Justini's fist lashed out, striking the man with her gauntlet hard enough to knock him over. The heretic fell to the ground but behind him another shouted, "They're onto us, run!"
Suddenly the prisoners surged to their feet, severed ropes falling from their hands and feet. They'd cut their bonds somehow, freeing their limbs to act. Justini found an instant mob rising up, fists and feet battering at her plate. Small knives flashed, scoring her iconography and she realised some had concealed blades upon their persons, doubtless how they had broken their bonds. Justini was battered by heaving bodies, all scrabbling at her plate but she stood firm, her training coming to the fore.
With a wide sweep of her polearm she knocked away struggling bodies, their feeble weight no match for the blessed strength of power armour. In the momentary respite she reversed her swing, bringing the flaring axe-blade about. A man went down with half his chest caved in, scorched blood painted onto his bones by cauterising energy. Another man lost his legs as she angled low, then she pulled back, before stabbing a woman through the heart with the spiked point. The crowd fell back before her, cowed by her display of might but then they surged at her. No, around her, they weren't trying to crush her at all, this was an escape attempt.
Running men and women dashed past, moving faster than her power armoured bulk would let her match. She stomped around but they were fleeing as fast as their legs could take them, moving out of range of her weapon. They left her in their dust, yet by doing so ran straight into the rest of the squad. Praxi met their charge with a sweep of a Storm Bolter, the juddering weapon booming as mass-reactive bolts reduced bodies to sprays of offal. Her aim was lousy, even a Space Marine struggled for accuracy with such weapons, but in close confines it was deadly and she mowed down half a dozen with one sweep. Heleyna by contrast bore a thick Storm Shield and shock-mace, the thrumming head singing with vibratory menace as she stove in heads and crushed ribcages. Lexia was encumbered by a Holy Triptych, filled with images of the life of Saint Jerthoe, framing his own skull. A proud and inspiring sight to fight beneath but thankfully her other hand held an Inferno Pistol and with a single shot she burned holes through three prisoners, the energy beam burrowing through flesh with ease.
A score of Heretics were down but a dozen more yet remained, running past without trying to engage. They were almost away but then Phantea arrived. The Canoness-Preceptor moved into the rushing mob with a steady stride, that belied the flashing arc of steel that was her sword. With lightning-fast thrusts she laid about her, rending flesh and ending lives. She moved with grace and speed born of decades of experience, her onslaught a relentless torrent of stabs and slices, every blow proving lethal. Prisoners went down in seconds, nine of them, faster than Justini could follow. Phantea ended them without taking a scratch, her exposed face stern and condemning, her white-grey hair unmoved by wind or exertion.
Great was the display of skill but Praxi called, "Three of them are getting away!"
"No, they're not," Resita retorted as she lifted her augmented stalker-bolter. She fixed the enlarged sight to her helm and squeezed the trigger thrice. Three short hisses signalled silenced bolts sailing away and three Heretics fell to the ground, their backs blown wide open.
A stunned silence fell over all, save for Praxi who spat, "Idiots, where did they think they were going? There's nothing out there save endless plains and algae."
Justini gathered herself up and remarked, "I don't think they cared where they were going, only that it was away from here."
Phantea stepped over cooling corpses and shouted, "Who is responsible for this outrage?!"
The crowd backed away in fear, inching towards the Train-city, and even the Missionary was silent on his ladder as the Canoness growled, "Name him or the God-Emperor's wrath will pale in comparison to mine!"
A man in rich robes was shoved forward from the crowd and pleaded, "We didn't know! They must have had help, but I swear none of us knew what they were planning."
Phantea growled, "Then find the perpetrators. You have one hour to bring more Heretics to me and I want double the number of condemned this time."
"Double?!" The man squeaked as faces blanched behind him.
Phantea gestured and the Sisters levelled their weapons at the crowd. Justini held her polearm straight as she selected targets, planning how she would move through the mob, killing indiscriminately. Despite the fact she was pointing her weapon at civilians there was no hint of mercy was in her hearts. These people lacked faith and such a crime was unforgivable. There was only the Emperor or Heresy, righteousness or Chaos, good or evil. To deny His rule was to become her enemy, there were no shades of grey in the battle for humanity's fate.
Phantea drew herself up and declared, "It seems the Missionaria Galaxia has been far too lenient with your people. No more, I have come to place this world under His benevolent protection and I will kill every last person on Suna if that is what it takes!"